


Portfolio

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: The Bronze (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Desperate to finish your portfolio for a high-end fashion magazine and with no male model available, you turn to your ex-boyfriend for help.
Relationships: Lance Tucker/Reader, Lance Tucker/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	Portfolio

“Shit, shit, shit, SHIT,” you screamed. You resisted the urge to throw your phone across the room, instead, you tossed it on your unmade bed.

You needed coffee. A very large, very strong coffee.

You grabbed your bag and your camera - you didn’t go anywhere without your camera - and headed out of your studio apartment, stomping down the stairs and out the door. Down the street and around the corner was your favorite coffee shop. You ducked in and waved at Holly, the morning barista and a close friend. She waved back and set to work making your coffee.

By the time you got to the front of the line, your coffee was ready and waiting for you. You slid your money across the counter and picked up the cup, inhaling the heavenly scent of your favorite brew.

“Thanks, Holly,” you sighed. “You don’t know how much I needed this.”

“It’s too early for you to be having a bad day,” she laughed.

“Oh, but it’s not,” you shook your head. “My bad day started about twenty minutes ago.”

“What happened?” Holly asked.

“My model backed out.”

“Oh shit,” Holly muttered. “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Give up. Maybe I need to forget it. It was a pipe dream anyway, thinking I could work for a fashion magazine.”

Holly whispered something to the other barista, then she came around the counter, took your elbow, and dragged you to a table in the corner.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing at one of the chairs.

You did as she asked, watching her warily as she sat down across from you.

“If you’re going to yell at me, you can save it. You’re not going to say anything I haven’t already said to myself. But, it’s hopeless. I can’t finish my portfolio without a male model and the only one I had bailed on me. I have less than forty-eight hours to get it done and without a model available  _ today _ , it’s not happening.”

Holly scrunched her face up in that way she had when she was concentrating. After a few seconds, her eyes widened and a sly smile spread across her face.

“What about Lance?” she asked.

You shook your head. “No, uh-uh, no way.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Holly said. “You know he’ll do it. That man has an ego bigger than the world’s most attractive male model. You ask him to model for you and he’ll jump at the chance.”

“He’ll jump at the chance because he’ll think it’s because I want to get back together,” you scoffed.

“You don’t?”

You rolled your eyes. “That ship has sailed, Holly. You know that. We had different ideas about what we wanted out of a relationship. Because of that, we broke up. I do not want to open that door again.” You stood up and snatched up your coffee. “I’m going to go for a walk, wallow in my own misery. I’ll talk to you later.”

You hurried from the shop and out the door. Twenty minutes later, you were walking through Central Park, snapping random photos here and there, letting yourself get lost in the sights and sounds of the city.

You’d been in the park for almost an hour when your phone rang. You kept your camera in one hand and answered it with the other.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Lance,” you mumbled. “What do you want?”

“What? Can’t I call just to say hi?”

“You don’t call just to say hi,” you scoffed. “You always have ulterior motives.”

Lance chuckled and you hated the fact that the sound still made goosebumps break out all over your skin. “Holly called me.”

“Of course she did,” you sighed.

“She told me you need a male model,” he said. “I’m calling to volunteer my services.”

Dammit, you could practically  _ see _ the smirk on his stupid face. That overwhelming urge to throw your phone came over you again.

“I don’t need your help, Lance. Nor do I want it.”

“Fine, whatever,” he said. “I guess that means you’re okay with letting this chance slip away. And the only reason is that you can’t stomach a couple of hours with me. I’ll talk to you later sweetheart.” The line went dead.

You stared at the phone in your hand. It had been almost six months since you’d talked to Lance, not since you’d broken up. That was how it should be, right? You didn’t need to talk to him. Except you felt kind of bad brushing him off when he’d offered to help after not talking to you in months. And to be honest, you could use his help. He might be an egotistical jerk, but he could also be a sweetheart. Maybe you could give him a chance to help.

You blew out an irritated breath, pulled up Lance’s number, and hit send. He answered almost immediately.

“Yes?”

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay what?” he asked.

You wanted to reach through the phone and rip his face off. “Okay, you can help me,” you replied. “If you really want to.”

“Oh, I do,” Lance chuckled. “Tell where and when and I’ll be there.”

You gave the address and a time to meet, thanked him as politely as you possibly could, and hung up the phone. Your phone immediately buzzed with a text message.

_ See you later, sweetheart _ . Followed by two emojis blowing heart kisses.

This was going to be a nightmare.

* * *

You’d managed to secure the use of a small studio for the night. It wasn’t exactly a photography studio - your friend was a painter and sculptor - but it was a huge, open space that would make it easy to get some great shots. Lance was leaning against the brick wall by the door when you arrived.

“You’re early.” You had to admit, you were surprised. Lance was never early or even on time for anything. He was one of those men who was perpetually late for everything and he did not care if it inconvenienced anyone. As far as he was concerned, the world revolved around Lance Tucker.

“Trying to be helpful,” Lance shrugged. “I know you’ve got a schedule to keep.”

That surprised you more than the fact that he was early. One of the many reasons you’d broken up was that he was unbelievably inconsiderate. He rarely took your feelings into account or did anything to make your life easier.

“Who are you and what did you do with Lance Tucker?” you teased.

“Haha, you’re funny,” he muttered as he followed you inside.

It only took you a few minutes to get your camera ready, then you quickly explained to Lance what you needed him to do. He was naturally photogenic, obviously handsome, and when he wanted to be, easygoing. Apparently, tonight was one of those nights. He didn’t argue with you even once.

You got some setup shots done, most of them meant to test the light, make sure everything was like you wanted it. The light gray background you put Lance against worked well, better than you’d thought. Once you had the shots down, you set your camera down and cleared your throat.

“Okay, um...so…”

“Spit it out, Y/N,” Lance said. 

“Fine,” you huffed. “Can you take off your shirt?”

Lance snorted. “Moving kind of fast aren’t you, babe?”

You’d been expecting this. You grabbed your portfolio from your bag and tossed it to him. He caught it and quickly flipped through it.

“I have to show a variety of different shots, Lance,” you explained. “Editorial, high fashion, and yes, even you in your damn underwear. Please don’t make a big deal out of this. I photographed the female model topless and in her underwear as well. It’s all very tasteful. It is not meant in any way to insinuate that I want to have sex with you.”

“Okay, sweetheart, whatever you say,” Lance smirked. He grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanked it over his head, and tossed it to you.

You caught it, the scent of his cologne washing over you. You closed your eyes for a brief second, the memories associated with that smell - the good memories - rushing through your head. You bit your lip and shook your head, refusing to let them consume you. You set the shirt on the chair, snatched up your camera, and began shooting, giving Lance instructions as you went. After you had a bunch of shots of him shirtless, in his jeans and nothing else, you dug through your bag and pulled out a package of brand new underwear. You handed them to Lance.

“You always wanted to be a Calvin Klein underwear model,” you grinned. “Put those on and we’ll finish the shoot.”

Lance laughed, the sound echoing through the room. You shouldn’t have been surprised when he dropped his pants right in front of you, though you were, a startled gasp leaving you as you quickly swung around.

“You’ve seen me naked, Y/N,” he said, close enough that you felt his breath blow against the back of your neck. “Hundreds of times.”

“We’re not together anymore, Lance,” you reminded him.

“Why is that again?” he murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut, grateful he couldn’t see you. “Because you’re an egotistical jerk who only cares about himself.” Thank god he couldn’t see your face; he’d see the lie.

“People change,” he whispered. A few seconds later he cleared his throat. “I’m ready.”

He was ready, the white boxer briefs a sharp contrast to his tanned skin. He was in impeccable shape, always had been, and just looking at him had desire settling in the pit of your stomach. You thought those feelings, those desires, and wants, had passed, but apparently you were wrong.

You willed yourself to focus and set to work snapping photos. Lance was a natural, moving with an ease that surprised you. You’d snapped hundreds of casual photos over the years - he’d been your primary subject while you were dating - but you’d never photographed him in a professional setting.

It took you almost an hour to finish and by the time you were done, you needed a cold shower. You’d forgotten Lance’s ability to turn you to mush with just a look and having him running around in his underwear, giving you his sexiest looks was rapidly raising your blood pressure. You were relieved when you finally snapped the last photo.

“You want to go grab a drink or something?” Lance asked once he was dressed and ready to go. “We could try that sushi place down the street.”

“As surprisingly sweet as that offer was, I’m going to have to say no,” you replied. “I need to get home and get this stuff edited so I can drop my portfolio off tomorrow afternoon.”

“Your loss, sweetheart,” he smirked before spinning around and stalking from the room, the door slamming closed behind him.

“Now that was the Lance I know,” you murmured to yourself.

* * *

By eleven o’clock, you were still editing and you were ready to kill someone, preferably your ex. He was so damn attractive that you couldn’t pick the two or three photographs you needed for your portfolio. Every time you thought you had settled on one, your eye was drawn to another equally as good. It was driving you crazy and you were irrationally angry.

You pushed your laptop away and got up. You poured another cup of coffee - you’d lost count at four or five - and leaned against the counter. You were mad at yourself for being mad at Lance. He hadn’t done anything, in fact, he’d come to your rescue when he didn’t have to, he didn’t have to call you and offer his help. You should be grateful.

You grabbed a package of cookies, just something to munch on while you tried to figure this out. You were about to sit down and tackle it again when there was a quiet knock on your apartment door. You looked through the peephole and cursed under your breath. You didn’t have time for this. You threw the locks and yanked open the door.

“Lance? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Wow, the greetings I’ve been getting from you lately,” he chuckled. “I could get a complex.” He leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed, smirking.

“You would never get a complex,” you muttered. You pushed the door open the rest way and gestured for him to come inside.

He followed you inside, stopping long enough to close and lock the door behind him. “How’s it going?”

“Not great,” you shrugged. “And just so you know, I blame it on you.”

“What did I do?”

You swung the laptop around. “I can’t choose,” you shrugged. “Why can’t you take an ugly picture?”

“Natural good looks, baby,” he laughed. He leaned over the table and looked at the photos on the screen. “That one, that one, and this one.”

You looked at the ones he had picked and you actually liked them. You loathed having to tell him that.

“Are you going to argue with me?” Lance asked.

“No,” you sighed. You leaned against the kitchen counter and scrubbed a hand through your hair. “I’m a little irritated that I’ve spent hours trying to choose photos and you walk in here and go boom, boom, boom, and you’re right. You’re an asshole, Lance.”

“I help you and I’m an asshole,” he muttered. “I cannot win with you. You really hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate you,” you mumbled.

“Sure you do,” he chuckled. He crossed the room to stand in front of you, so close you could smell his cologne and that damn gum he always chewed. “You know you do.”

“Why are you such a pain in my ass, Lance Tucker?”

He took a step closer and put his hands on the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. He didn’t say a word, he just ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

Something snapped inside of you and the next thing you knew, you had a handful of Lance’s jacket and you were pushing him across the room. The two of you tumbled to the bed, lips smashed together, bodies pressed together. 

Lance pulled off your clothes - getting you out of them was something he had always been good at and that had definitely not changed. His mouth burned a trail down your stomach, his fingers caressing you as he pushed open your thighs.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking greedily. He wasn’t gentle; he was hungry, insatiable, a little rough, impatient, demanding. His fingers dug into your hips, yanking you closer, his mouth covering you, his tongue deep inside of you, his nose pressed to your clit. It was downright sinful and you couldn’t get enough; your body was on fire, sensations you’d forgotten existed working their way through every one of your nerve endings.

You wrapped your hands in the hair at the top of his head, tugging him even closer, shamelessly moaning as Lance ate you out while you were sprawled across your tiny bed. This wasn’t how you’d pictured your evening ending, but goddammit, you were going to enjoy every minute of it.

Lance pushed two fingers inside of you, thrusting wildly, his tongue still moving, until you were coming so hard you were seeing stars, the muscles in your thighs shaking uncontrollably, your back arching as the pleasure assaulted you. It seemed to go on forever, so all-consuming, so intense that it bordered on painful. Even when Lance released you, easing up your body, biting and marking you as he went, you were still thrumming with need, every touch, every little thing he did keeping you on edge.

Lance rose up on his knees and pulled off his clothes. You pulled him down on top of you, moaning as his body settled over yours. He pushed himself between your legs, his hips resting on yours, his erection pressing into you.

“Condom?” you gasped.

“Damn it,” he grumbled, but he pushed off of you, snatched his pants off the floor and pulled a condom out of the pocket. He pushed it into your hand then he was back over you, his lips drifting up your collarbone to your neck, his erection pressing into your thigh. You took him in your hand, sighing at the feel of his huge, heavy cock in your hand. You swiped your thumb over the tip, then down the shaft, tracing the thick vein with your fingers, cupping his balls in your hand, gently massaging them, before sliding your hand back up his erection.

Lance moaned, a deep, sexy sound that made you tingle everywhere. He shifted to one side and pushed his hand between your legs, his thumb pressed against your clit. When his fingers slipped inside you, you gasped, your hips bucking up, silently begging for more.

“Oh my God,” you sighed as he scissored his fingers inside you, twisting and turning them as he opened you up.

You released him long enough to open the condom and then you eased it down his shaft, slowly, massaging his length as you did. He caught your lips in his, kissing you hard.

Lance hooked your leg over his waist, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance and then he was pushing inside you, slowly, an inch at a time, giving you time to adjust to his substantial length. He ran his hand up your side, taking a hold of your hand and holding it above your head as he thrust into you, his forehead pressed to yours, kissing you gently. The two of you set a slow, languid pace as you moved together. It was like you’d never been apart.

You were gone, completely consumed by everything that was Lance, everything you’d forgotten - the way he smelled, the touch of his hands against your skin, the taste of his lips on your tongue, the way his cock slid in and out of your body, even the sounds he was making. You couldn’t get enough of him. 

Lance shifted, rolling his hips, hitting your g-spot just right over and over. You lost it; your fingers dug into his ass, pulling him tight against you, your hips snapped up to meet his as the fire in the pit of your stomach burned out of control. It only took a couple more thrusts from Lance before you were coming, the fire rolling through you, shattering you to pieces.

You gasped Lance’s name as the orgasm consumed you. His grip on your hand tightened as he slammed into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he climaxed.

He laid sprawled across you for a few minutes, both of you breathing heavily. Lance pushed himself up on one arm and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I gotta go -”

“You should go -”

You both spoke at the same time and you couldn’t help but laugh. You tangled your fingers in Lance’s hair and pulled him down, your lips brushing over his.

Lance pushed himself to his feet while you covered yourself with the blanket at the end of the bed. He dressed quickly with you watching him. Funny enough, you didn’t regret what had just happened. You’d certainly enjoyed yourself, that was for damn sure.

Once he was dressed, Lance kissed the top of your head, mumbled goodbye, and then he was gone.

You wrapped the blanket around yourself, tucking it under your arm, sat down at the table, and finished editing your photos. Those pictures of Lance were going to get you that job, you were sure of it. Your portfolio was going to be amazing.

“Thank you, Lance,” you murmured under your breath. 


End file.
